


like cool water

by SnowStormSkies



Series: Surrender [3]
Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: BDSM, Bathing/Washing, M/M, Spanking, Twincest, collar and leash fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStormSkies/pseuds/SnowStormSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill knows how to take care of Tom, from the ground up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like cool water

**Author's Note:**

> _Umm... ~~Forgive me, for I have sinned?~~ This is the direct after effect of Day 2 - Spanking, found here, and is focused on Bill and Tom but NOT explicitly twincesty. Or should that be exclusively. _

 

Bill checks the temperature again, letting his hand trail through the bathwater again to make sure he’s got it perfect.

It’s just right – cool but not cold, the water crystal clear as he lets it drain through his fingers. The lack of bubble bath, bath milk or even the usual oatmeal baggie under the tap because they both suffer from dry skin will tell Tom exactly what Bill expects from him tonight. Perfect crystal clear obedience. This won’t be _fun._ He flicks off the taps, letting the silence of the room wash over him.

This is a moment for him to just wait, catch up a bit with himself and prepare for what’s coming next.

He’s in charge of this room, tonight, and he has to make sure that he’s very firm in that control. He’s laid everything out to make sure he can keep that image going – the wash cloth, shower gel, and the shower cap for Tom’s dreads, he’s made sure it’s all there.

On the vanity counter top, he’s laid out the rest of it. The shaving kit for Tom’s face, toothbrush and paste, moisturisers and cleaners, everything he’ll need to strip away the effects of the day from his older brother.

Outside, Bill can faintly hear Gustav talking to Tom, and his tone, rather than angry, seems to be reassuring.

Almost time to move then.

It’s weird. Really really weird. Every time he comes to do this, he feels strange in some way. Not because where they are – hotels are a home away from home these days – but what he’s doing, and who he’s doing it to. He would never have anticipated doing this before Tokio Hotel, but now, it’s just a fact of life.

He’s been doing it for two years now.

At first, it was hard and weird to have to watch Tom in the shower, to strip him and put him in the bath. The first few times, he’d been quite offset by it, confused by the feelings it brought up. But after a while, and a lot of discussion with Georg and Gustav, it became easier. Became less _weird._ And after that, he took it up another step, and was the one handing Tom the razor, the shower gel, the wash cloth – not just watching but actively participating.

And then after that, the next step was probably inevitable.

Bill took over washing Tom entirely. And shaving him, and waxing him, and everything else that comes with the bathing routine and everything that happens in the bathroom. He created rules – Georg and Gustav had their own when it came to food, and sex, and discipline, and whatever their domains encountered, but for Bill, the bathroom is his.

It’s taken time to get it right, and it’s still a work in progress even now. Tom has anxiety about germs and there are still things Bill doesn’t wish to see or smell but gradually, the shift between just overseeing to actually being involved and having ultimate control became a reality.

 

Bill brought in enemas, because aside from the fact they were great for punishment, they forced Tom to realise his lack of control. Being made to kneel on the floor on a towel, or lie on the bed with a plug up his backside, waiting for his twenty or thirty minutes to count down brought Tom into line very quickly. He brought in a traditional shaving kit with a straight razor and hand mixed foam because it meant Tom didn’t know how to do it and had to rely on Bill to do it for him. There’s something very intoxicating about seeing someone baring their throat for a sharp blade, having to trust the holder to keep them safe.

And the waxing was always going to happen as soon as Bill found out what a home kit could do for himself.

Tom doesn’t like it. Being made to spread his cheeks, or to spread his legs, and let Bill take away every inch of hair from the eyebrows down, it’s not exactly an easy job, and Tom often cries.

But Bill likes the results.

There’s a knock on the door, and when Bill opens it, he finds Gustav, holding Tom’s leash.

Tom himself is kneeling on the floor again, one arm over his face. His jeans are back up around his waist but Bill can see his belt is still undone, trailing half behind him as it falls out of the belt loops.

“Come in.”

\--

Inside the bathroom, Bill prohibits Tom from speaking with just a look.

They’ve never needed many words between them, even before this whole discipline thing started. They could also communicate with just a look, a touch, a sigh – there was no need for long, difficult conversations. Tom’s always been on Bill’s emotional radar, and the degree to which Bill can pinpoint his mood and thought processes has only increased as they’ve become closer.

It’s also happened in the other direction, Tom being intimately aware of every shift and slide in Bill’s own internal balances but right now, that’s not where the focus is.

The first thing to come off is the collar – not because Tom is released from his submission, but because he’s about to be bathed, and leather doesn’t do so well being submerged in water. Bill doesn’t allow Tom to maintain eye contact – that’s something that he’s not allowed when he’s been bad because eye contact makes you an equal and right now Tom isn’t.

“Eyes down,” he says, as he unbuckles the black collar, the inch wide leather band warmed from Tom’s skin, the chain section also warmed. Bill loves the contrast between black leather and the bright silver chain. He places it on the side in full view of Tom, and coils the chain leash around it. The metal clicks loudly on the marble surface.

“Arms up,” He says, and Tom obediently threads his hands together behind his head, closing his eyes.

It doesn’t take long to divest Tom of his clothing.

His shoes and socks have been left in the bedroom because being barefoot is part of the discipline process, and Bill doesn’t even need to undo his belt or unzip the massive pair of jeans. Two quick tugs and they’re back around Tom’s knees, looking like they never left. He makes Tom step out of them, and carefully folds them on the side.

He learnt very early on that Tom’s anxiety when his clothes were not folded didn’t spiral out of control but certainly increased and made further dealings difficult. Small things like being neat with his clothes are things that Bill can give Tom to make his life easier. Make it easier to trust that he’ll be kept safe and well.

The two oversized t-shirts follow, neatly laid on top of the jeans, and then the white thermal vest underneath because it’s cold in America – so fucking cold – and Tom needs that extra warmth because he’s so sensitive to cold and temperature fluctuations. The American habit of blasting aircon in every building so it’s all arctic ranges is not helping.

After all that, Tom is left in his underwear and his jewellery, the few bits that he wears simple and discreet compared to Bill’s jangling mass of chains and rings and bracelets. Bill carefully unfastens the simple black cord necklace with three engraved silver beads on, laying it in the box waiting on the side. It was a present from all three of them – the three silver beads representative of each of them in Tom’s life. It was the first purple reward he got – over two years ago – and Tom hardly ever takes it off. The watch follows the necklace, replaced in the leather presentation case that Tom carries everywhere.

On the back of it, they’d all agreed again and had had engraved, _“Obedience. Trust. Submission.”_ and Bill knows that it’s another kind of collar for Tom, because he can’t wear the leather one during the day or when they’re in a public place. For him, it’s another measure of security.

The last thing to come down are Tom’s two pair of boxers – the baggy ones for show, and the tighter boxer briefs underneath because David has impressed upon all of the band that one wrong move and your ass may be shown the world.

Tom peels them down himself, handing them to Bill before returning to keeping his hands behind his head.

It’s a position they all use with Tom – it’s about being still, and not fiddling but also not hunching over and trying to hide himself away as he’s prone to do. It was one of the first positions Georg taught Tom, and watching him gently move Tom to his liking so the pose was correct was very interesting. They’d only been young – sixteen for him and Tom – and the process to them was intriguing, and strange. Georg had been confident, in control, letting Tom know exactly what he wanted from him.

That’s what Tom needed.

Georg likes the variation where he’s on his knees, because everything is so accessible and yet submissive, and Gustav has a thing for Tom on all fours, but Bill – who stands, even in his bare feet, several inches taller than Tom – doesn’t mind the standing version.

“Turn.” Bill says, and Tom obediently turns to face the other way.

His backside is bright red, cherry scarlet red burning across the entire expanse, and Bill carefully touches it, just pressing his fingers into the naked flesh and Tom hisses. The skin is radiating heat but there are no blisters or cuts – he would expect nothing else from Georg, but he and Gustav often struggle with some disciplinary things, and it’s always good to check. Punishment and a bit of pain is all very well but Bill has no desire to hurt Tom beyond that.

Tom takes his lead from all them, but Bill and Gustav take their lead from Georg.

Not in the same way Tom does – Bill does _not_ get smacked or time out or a red card or whatever, thank you very much – but Georg is the one who provides guidance and advises them on how to tackle new situations. Life likes to throw weird things in their path and Bill trusts Georg to know that he’s doing when dealing with those situations.

But tonight, Bill is happy with the plan that’s been put in place for Tom to deal with the punishment, and he taps the side of the bath.

“In.”

 

-

After the initial shuffling around and settling, Tom acquiesces to sitting in the hard bath fairly easily, his discomfort probably alleviated a little by the folded bath towel Bill placed in the bottom of the tub. Small measures of comfort.

“Spread.” Small words, too.

Tom obediently spreads his knees, biting his lip as he doesn’t say anything against the invasion of his personal space but his face burns as Bill reaches between his thighs for his genitals. It’s good to see that he doesn’t fight Bill’s hands on him, and Tom gets praised for it. Rewards are important.

It’s something he does regularly for Tom, getting up close and personal to check to see if there’s any stubble down there, running his fingers across the skin above Tom’s dick, his balls, down underneath as well, and Bill is pleased to find some. It’s been about three weeks since Tom’s last waxing, and he was due for one any day soon. Tomorrow’ll be a wax and enema day for Tom then for sure. A double whammy but for Bill it’s more of a chance to make sure Tom looks as good all over.

So okay. Maybe it’s become a matter of pride to keep Tom as smooth and silky as Bill himself is, but nobody – apart from Tom during the actual waxing at least – seems to object. And the post waxing massage never seems to go amiss either.

Bill isn’t sure when bathing Tom became his _thing_ but he suspects it was quite early on. He, Gustav, and Georg all ended up dividing everything up into individual roles and for Bill to take over Tom’s physical appearance just seemed natural, what with the amount of attention he paid his own.

Most of the time, it means holding the right to veto clothes, or to pick something special, but Bill gets that anyway because everybody has to match in some way. Except Gustav sometimes. Gustav… walks to the beat of his own drum, and not even Bill can change that.

But it means that when Tom is good, Bill just gets a final check of what clothes Tom wants to wear that day, and a reminder to shave or get a salon wax, or to do it himself for Tom but only when Tom says he wants one.

Even when Tom is tired or sick, he can choose to rely on Bill or not to make him look good.

But when he’s on punishment, Tom loses the right to choose or to do it himself, and Bill steps up. Instead of a shower, it means a bath; instead of the right to book in for a professional wax, it means Bill does it himself with the home kit. Instead of just saying that an outfit is okay, Bill goes through Toms’ suitcases and his hat box, putting together everything from nightwear to accessories to shoes for Tom to wear over the next few days.

In the bathroom now, Bill’s carrying out his _duties_ as he calls them.

He carefully rolls Tom’s balls between his fingers, just testing the water, and the reaction – a shudder, Tom’s face flushing as he bites his lip, his knuckles whitening where he’s holding onto the bath handles – tells him that Tom is also extremely ready to be dealt with in that way.

But that’s Georg’s domain tonight.

Instead, Bill leaves Tom’s half hard dick alone, and when Tom almost reaches for it himself – it’s so hard to train Tom out of that but it’s one of the things they’re working on – he reprimands him softly, and Tom grips the bar on the side of the bath again. It’s difficult for Tom to stop himself, ad Bill has both fought him on the issue and supported him through resisting the temptation because Georg likes to insist on a lack of sexual activity when Tom’s on punishment. Bill rewards the aborted reaction with a gentle kiss on his neck, and Tom sighs.

Time to get down to business.

Washing Tom is a pleasure. That’s something Bill has learnt to see it as – not just brusquely scrubbing away at dirt and sweat but actually taking time to _look_ and _study_ Tom’s body, and the way his muscles and bones make lines and dips in warm faintly tanned skin. Not just looking at his body as it is now, but comparing it to what it was before, looking at the changes in tone and definition that the hours in the gym have started to create.

Bill knows every inch of it now, the freckles and moles and scars that make it Tom’s body, not his. The cloth in his hands smoothes down Tom’s back, leaving white foam in its wake, and water trickles along his shoulder blades.

“Shush, Tom,” Bill says as Tom whimpers.

Bill likes this – he’s take off his acrylic nails because they’re really annoying and he wanted to give his hands a break, and it means he’s able to hold things properly, bracing Tom’s arm up while he carefully washes away the stress and dirt of the day.

Tom shivers a little from the cool water, and Bill verbally checks in with him to make sure he’s not too cold. It has to be cool water though, not hot, because hot water on a freshly spanked backside makes Tom climb the walls, and it’s good for his skin too – hot baths dry out the top layer, Bill has learnt from his researching on the web.

Having Tom be _submissive,_ even though it’s not conventional, means a lot of looking things up, writing things down, making rules and developing ways to do things, and contingency plans for when it all goes wrong.

Underneath his hand, Tom’s nipple is tight and hard, and he sighs again when Bill caresses it. So much potential for some fun and games, but tonight Bill has to restrain himself, despite his rapidly growing love of playing with Tom’s hyper sensitive nipples. 

“Hands and knees,” he murmurs, and Tom obediently moves. “Good boy.”

\--

“Rinse, and spit,” Bill hands Tom a cup of water and waits.

Tom is ready for bed, although still not dressed yet, his dreads wrapped neatly in the only item of clothing Tom is wearing – the dread scarf. He’ll get a pair of boxers and a t-shirt outside, once the talk is over, but for now, the scarf is as clothed as he’s going to get. His dreads hang down his back even though Bill’s looped them around twice – they’re so long now. Almost two and a half feet now – and it’s no wonder. Tom’s had them since he was nine.

They’re just another example of the resistance to change that Tom has.

Tonight, he’s had them washed over the side of the bath, holding a flannel over his eyes as Bill massaged dread shampoo into the roots and poured jug after jug after jug of water over them to clean away the smell of concerts and travelling and the stress of earlier. After that, Bill dried them with his high powered hair dryer while Tom sat on the vanity chair, and they smell gloriously of lavender and honey.

It’s not meant to reflect on Tom as _feminine_ but for the next week or so, Tom will followed everywhere he goes with a faint and calming scent of lavender blossom, from morning till night, hopefully encouraging him to relax.

Scent therapy, Natalie calls it, and Bill took the brief lessons in it to heart.

He watches Tom carefully and the self-conscious way his brother keeps trying to conceal his dick with his hand, half-heartedly cupping himself away from Bill’s gaze is just another demonstration that Tom is not all the big man he pretends to be. Bill’s always known it – they shared a bed until they were fourteen, and not just because Bill bagsied the double.

But he doesn’t call Tom on it, knowing that being the clothed one in the room puts him at an advantage over his brother, makes him less self-conscious and Tom doesn’t need Bill picking away at him.

Instead, he contents himself with looking at Tom, counting the number of moles on his skin, on his back and neck, and his arms, looking at the way Tom’s body moves and flexes as he bends forward to spit in the sink after gargling.

But when Tom hands him back the cup afterwards and takes the towel, Bill sees his hand shake, and he raises a hand to wipe at his eyes again as they shine glassily. It’s not usual for Tom – not at this stage of punishment. Usually, he’s tired, ready for sleep, emotionally taxed from his punishment but not still crying. Concern rises.

“Tom?” Bill reaches for him, and Tom backs away a little bit, and more tears are starting up now. Oh, fuck. “Come here, Tomi…” Bill doesn’t know where that just came from, reverting to the familiar nickname, the only bit of their old life remaining, it seems sometimes, from where they were just twins.

“I’m sorry!”

Ah. “Shush, Tom,” Apologising comes later for him – outside, in the bedroom, on his knees or actually in bed, depending on whoever’s in charge of the punishment’s mood, in front of all them before hugs and kisses, and words of forgiveness. Right now, Bill doesn’t want to or need to hear Tom’s apologies.

He’s still hurting from seeing Tom running away while Bill tried to prep the enema kit that they should have been using tonight.

Technically speaking, he knows it’s not entirely Tom’s fault. He should have kept Tom on the leash – he knew as soon as he heard the bedroom door open, he should have clipped Tom’s ring with the chain, and kept him close, and Bill got a lecture from Georg about it while everybody was trying to locate his brother. He hadn’t done it because he’d thought Tom would sit where he left him on the vanity chair and _fuck,_ Tom had never run before. He’d backed away, tried to negotiate while edging around the room but never ever ever actually tried to leave the room.

Bill got sloppy.

It’ll be discussed tonight after he gets Tom into bed, and they’ll have to reassess how they tackle it because it _cannot_ happen again. It cannot.

Getting the first text back from Tom had been a huge relief. There had been worry in the back of his mind, in the backs of all their minds that Tom wouldn’t be found, or something would go horribly wrong because he’d left without security which is a _huge_ no-no.

But Tom isn’t responding to Bill’s urging to stop apologising. Instead of moving into the bathroom, he’s crumpled to his knees on the mat, still openly crying and Bill understands that he’s trying to show his willingness to submit but it’s not what needs to happen –

Collar. Tom is missing his collar.

Bill took off because he washed Tom’s dreads and the leather doesn’t like being wet for long, but Tom uses it to ground himself, holding onto it with two fingers to hold himself together in the face of punishment or reprimand. Now that he’s naked and exposed and hurting from being spanked, Tom is probably completely at sea emotionally.

He needs the security of his collar.

“Shush, Tom,” Bill says, and he keeps using the name, knowing that he’s not just speaking but trying to communicate _to Tom_ explicitly. Using his name is a way to call attention to it. He finds the leather item on the counter top, the chain once again cold in his hands, and he scoops it up quickly. “Come here, Tom…” Bill moves closer, trying to get Tom to drop his hands from his face so Bill can get access to his neck but Tom won’t do it.

There’s a knock at the door.

_For fuck’s sake…_

“Not now.” Bill tries hard to keep his voice even, and his tone calm – Tom doesn’t need to be stressed out even more by hearing anger or frustration in his voice. Georg impressed that upon them very very hard in the first place.

Nobody speaks outside, but Bill gets the impression of _hurry up_ anyway. It’s late – nearly eleven, according to the clock on the wall – and if they’re supposed to have a discussion as well tonight, Bill needs to hurry but Tom -

“Bill!”

Something is obviously _not_ right with Tom tonight, and Bill resolves to question him on it later, but right now, getting Tom into the collar is the top priority.

It takes a while – two, maybe three minutes, when usually it’s a thirty second job – to get the leather buckled up tight enough so Tom will feel it properly, and just as Bill expected, as soon as the leash is clipped onto the ring at the first, Tom hooks two fingers through it, his eyes shut.

They wait, Bill kneeling on the floor opposite Tom, a hand pressed over his brother’s heart, just letting Tom come back to himself. Brief moments of panic and fear are common for Tom, his anxiety making him prone to experiencing terrifying moments where the world drops out from under him without notice. Bill’s learnt to cope with them, and he’s teaching Georg and Gustav to as well, but it’s not easy.

It’s usually not this bad but Bill suspects that the prospect of the _talk_ that Gustav will have outside with him is not helping in the slightest to keep Tom calm. That, combined with the fact that Tom is no doubt tired, over stressed and overwrought probably means he’s less than okay or stable emotionally.

The talk will have to wait. Tom needs time and Bill is going to give him that.

Finally, the flow of tears stops. “M’sorry…” Tom murmurs, wiping his eyes again with his other hand. He looks embarrassed, and he struggles to meet Bill’s gaze.

“Look at me,” Bill says, and after a long moment, Tom obediently stares up at him through the tears. Bill wipes one away from where it’s trickling down Tom’s cheek. “I’m not angry at you.” Choosing his words carefully, that’s the way to go. Tom huffs, trying to look away, and Bill has to lift Tom’s chin up to make him make eye contact. “I’m not going to discuss it here, in the bathroom, but I am not angry at you. I love you. And nothing you do will change that.”

He knows that last sentence is true. He loves Tom with all his heart, and even though they’ve been blurring the lines of love, treading into sex from brotherhood and them going back again, he knows it’s not going to change. No matter how many bumps in the road there are, he won’t change the way he feels about Tom.

It may grow, it may evolve, and things around them will change. It already has – once upon a time they were just brothers, and now they’re _more_ than just siblings. But Bill isn’t sure where it’ll change next, and he’s not quite sure how he’ll handle it.

But he won’t stop putting Tom as number one on his list of people he loves.

“Do I have to go out there?” Tom asks, and Bill grins. He sounds not petulant but reluctant, his fingers rubbing against the leather almost without knowing it. Tom’s _afraid_ a bit but he trusts Bill to give him the response he needs.

“Yes. You do.” He doesn’t hug Tom even though he’d like to, because that means all is forgiven and all isn’t at this point, but he does stroke the side of his neck, the touch letting Tom take the pressure off for a second.

“What’ll happen to me?” Tom asks and he’s not asking because it’s a red punishment. Tom’s had enough of those to anticipate correctly what’s coming – the spanking, the enema, the days of sexual frustration ahead of him.

No, what he’s asking is _how bad is it?_ and _what can I do to fix it?_

Bill isn’t sure. Georg has decided to keep it close to his chest as to how Tom’s punishment will change, and because he’s the lead tonight, Bill and Gustav have left him alone with it.

Picking who takes the lead when it comes to discipline isn’t always easy – it’s usually whoever Tom has hurt the most, or whoever Tom disobeyed, or at least in some way directly linked to the act which inspired the punishment in the first place.

If nobody can decide, Georg takes point, because he’s older and most experienced.

And the knock on the door tells Bill it’s time to take Tom to face the music.  

 


End file.
